Middle of the Night
by Michelle
Summary: A post-ep fic to 'all things'


Title : Middle of the Night  
  
Author : Mickey  
  
Rating : PG  
  
Spoilers : all things  
  
Keywords : MSR, angst  
  
Disclaimer : Actually, contrary to popular belief, I do not own   
them. Mulder, Scully, and the rest of the gang belong to my cat,   
Toonces, who has graciously granted me the right to toy with   
the events of 'all things'.  
  
Archive : Gossamer and Ephemeral; OK. Everyone else; bag it, tag   
it, tell me where it is. (You know the drill:)  
  
Summary : C'mon. It's a post-ep for 'all things'! Don't tell me you   
don't already know what it's about.  
  
Author's Notes : I just got back from a great weekend in Baltimore,   
only to come home and find 'all things' playing on FX. (What a way   
to brighten a Monday!). In any event, this little ditty is just to   
reflect my general euphoric mood at the moment. The song (of   
course) is "The Sky is Broken" by Moby. Try and guess which   
episode it features prominently in.  
  
Feedback : Please! gnrgirl@hotmail.com  
  
XXXXXXX  
  
See the storm is broken /   
In the middle of the night /   
Nothing left here for me /   
It's washed away /   
  
  
I shouldn't be doing this. I know that more than I know anything   
else at this moment.  
  
What I'm not sure about is what I shouldn't be doing. Is my   
subconcious referring to my present actions, or is it referring to   
the actions I took a few hours ago? Is it telling me to stop the   
car, turn around, and go back inside? Or is it telling me that   
I shouldn't have slept with him? Which 'him' for that matter?  
  
My indecision overrides any effort I might have made to turn back. I   
slide the key from the ignition.  
  
Point of no return.   
  
  
The rain washes /   
The buildings aside /   
The sky turns black /   
The sky . . . /   
  
  
I'm in my apartment; alone. I didn't have to be alone now. I could be  
asleep, warm. The rain beating down outside would be soothing, not   
infuriating and gloomy. The darkness would be welcome not reviled.   
  
There's a cup of tea in my hands. I'm not sure when I made it. Two   
minutes ago, or two hours ago; it makes no difference. Even if there   
was any heat remaining in the liquid, I can't taste it.   
  
I just stare at the wall. Thinking. About what, I can't pinpoint.  
  
Ulcer's don't run in my family.  
  
  
Watch it fall /  
Push it out to sea /   
There's nothing left here . . . for me /   
I want you to lift up to the sky /   
I want to crush you /   
And then I . . . die /   
  
  
The phone rings. I already know who it is.  
  
"I'm sorry." I say as I pick up the black plastic reciever.  
  
He ignores this. "You left."   
  
There is a note of questioning in his voice. He wants me to assure   
him that it wasn't because of him. He wants me to tell him that I   
left for reasons other than the obvious. He wants to hear that I   
love him.   
  
But I can't tell him what I don't know.  
  
  
Speak to me, baby /   
In the middle of the night /   
Hold your mouth close to mine /   
I can see the wind coming down /  
Like black night /   
  
  
I'm holding my breath. I have to think about how to breathe before I   
let it out.   
  
It then that I realize what I've just said. That I just invited him   
over.What was I thinking? How can I face him now? I left him   
there . . .  
  
My breath is coming more shallow now. I can remember his touch,   
light, tender, against my skin.   
  
Maybe I know why I'm letting him come over.  
  
  
Speak to me /   
Like the winds outside /   
It's broken up, pushing us /   
Hear the rain fall /   
See the wind come to my eyes /   
See the storm broken /   
And now nothing /   
  
  
I'm tidying the living room like a madwoman. I don't stop long enough  
to ponder the reasoning behind this. If I did, I would remember all   
too clearly that he's seen me at my worst. That he's seen my house   
in disarray. That he doesn't care. That his apartment is worse.   
  
But I don't think about that. If I remembered all of this, I would   
need a different excuse to spend the pent up energy that has   
somehow come into my being.  
  
There's a knock at the door, stopping me from the harried cleaning.   
Once more my breathing comes unnaturally, this time in uneven   
gasps.  
  
No going back.  
  
  
Speak to me baby /   
In the middle of the night /   
Speak to me /   
Hold your mouth to mine /   
  
  
We stare at each other for a few long moments before I realize that   
he's soping wet.   
  
Before I realize that the water on his face isn't just the rain.  
  
Oh, God. What have I done?  
  
"Mulder, I . . ." I'm stuttering. I can't think. All that comes to   
mind is that I made a terrible mistake when I left this morning.  
  
He shakes his head, then takes a step closer to me. He touches my   
cheek, causing the tears I've been holding in to spill over.  
  
Then he takes me in his arms.   
  
  
The sky is breaking /   
It's deeper than love /   
I know the way you feel /   
Like the rains outside /   
Speak to me /   
  
  
Afternoon sun creeps through the slits in my blinds, casting golden   
shadows on rumpled sheets.  
  
I roll over, coming in contact with a warm body, and a warm smile.  
  
"Hi." I say.  
  
"Hi."  
  
XXXXXXX  
  



End file.
